Oh Captain, My Captain
by flavumetrubrum
Summary: When Steve is badly injured on a SHIELD mission, the team bands together to help their leader through this difficult time. But when the Captain receives life-changing news, he may not be willing to accept their support.
1. Chapter 1

If Clint was being honest – and he was nothing if not brutally honest – he had been slightly less than thrilled the first time Fury assigned him to a mission with Captain America. It wasn't that he didn't like the guy – quite the contrary. How do you not like the guy who trusts you with his life mere hours after you tried to kill him and everyone else aboard the helicarrier? No, it wasn't that at all. But Steve was a soldier, not a spy. His only field experience had been seventy years ago, in a war unlike any other. And while he successfully led his team in attacking and destroying countless Hydra bases, their MO hadn't exactly been about stealth.

But Clint followed orders, even if it was grudgingly, and he met up with the Captain in the hangar exactly when he was supposed to. Cap surprised him by speaking up first. "I hope you don't mind taking point on this one. I told Fury this isn't exactly my area of expertise, but he wants me to get some experience with covert ops and I'm happy to be learning from the best. I'll be following your lead, so just tell me what you need me to do."

Clint hadn't been sure what to expect, but that definitely hadn't been it. Cap had just fallen so naturally into the role of leader of the Avengers that Hawkeye had assumed he would have a hard time relinquishing control. This was far from the case, however. As time passed, and the two were sent on more and more missions together, Clint learned that Steve looked forward to taking a break from the pressures of leading their team and taking a subordinate role for once. Clint was happy enough to oblige, and before long they worked so well together that they hardly needed words to communicate out in the field.

This didn't stop Hawkeye from screaming through their radio a year later, however, when Cap failed to appear at the door to the weapons cache they were blowing up. Clint's watch, which was synced with the timer on the bomb, read 00:45, and Steve was still in there. "Steve, I swear to god, you get your spangly ass out here right now or I'm coming in after you!" Static was all that met his ultimatum, and Clint jumped out of the helicopter to follow through with his threat.

"I'm on my way!" Steve's voice, breathless and tight with pain, finally broke through the static. A second later his limping form appeared through the open door. Clint thought he was going to make it, was sure he was, until gunfire broke out behind him. Cap whirled around, bringing his gun up to deal with the new threat, and the warehouse erupted in flames and flying shrapnel. The shockwave sent Clint flying backwards into the side of the chopper with enough force to stun him for a moment.

As soon as he recovered, he sprinted toward the burning wreckage. "Steve, damn you, you better be alive." He found him half-buried under a slab of what used to be the roof, and when he moved that he nearly lost his lunch. Clint was an elite spy, one of the three most talented SHIELD agents, and as such had seen and done things that would put an average man in a psych ward. But this was different. This was Steve, his partner, teammate, and… dare he say it… friend. Steve was unconscious, and blessedly so. His uniform top was almost entirely burned away, and what was left was melted into his skin. Burns covered his face, chest, and arms. Large, jagged pieces of shrapnel were buried in his left shoulder, stomach, and both legs. There was already blood everywhere, and Clint knew that there was no way any normal human could have survived that.

But Steve wasn't normal, and without pause Clint heaved the taller man over his shoulder and took off as quickly as he could manage for their get-away vehicle. The pilot was still in the cockpit ready to go, and took off before the door was fully shut. Trusting the man to get them to the helicarrier as quickly as humanly possible, the archer focused his full attention on trying to keep his partner from bleeding out. Which was easier said than done. He hurriedly tore open the medical kit and used the sterile gauze to apply pressure to the worst of the wounds on Steve's abdomen. It was tricky business, working around the giant hunks of metal embedded in the flesh, and Clint felt panic trying to creep in through his defenses.

He vaguely heard the pilot calling ahead for medical, and then yelling back to him that they were ten minutes out. Hawkeye was not a praying man, but he sent out a prayer to anyone who would listen that Cap would hold out for that long. "Come on man, we're almost there. Just hang on. I am not going to be responsible for Captain America dying, again. Coulson would come back from the grave and haunt my ass if I let that happen. If Tasha doesn't get to me first." Blood started to trickle through the other man's parted lips, and Clint's pleas became more desperate. "Steve, you can't do this to me. We're partners, and you never quit on your partner. Damn it, man, _quit bleeding_!"

He had no idea how they got there, but Clint was suddenly aware that the chopper had landed. The door was open almost as soon as they touched the floor of the hangar, and before he knew what was happening he had been pushed out of the way. People appeared out of nowhere to put pressure on the wounds and monitor vitals, and Steve was quickly loaded onto a gurney and wheeled out of sight.

Clint stood by the chopper, covered in his friend's blood, not quite sure where to go from here. Natasha was on a mission in god-knows-where, and right then all he wanted was to hold her in his arms and hear her tell him he was being an idiot. But she wasn't there. He slammed his fist into the unforgiving metal of the helicopter and then did the only thing he could think of. He called Tony Stark.


	2. Chapter 2

"Fuck." Yeah, that pretty much said it all. Clint had given him a pretty sketchy version of what had gone down on their mission, but the main point was clear. Cap was hurt, _bad_, and Tony needed to get to the helicarrier _now_. Pepper was on a business trip to… well, somewhere… so without a word to anyone Tony donned the latest version of his suit and took off from the roof of his tower to fly to the aerial SHIELD base.

He would deny it on pain of death, but Tony couldn't get there fast enough. Sure, he and Steve may have butted heads about… well, let's be honest, _everything_. But there were moments, however few and far between, when Tony had to admit to himself that somehow, against his will, Steve had managed to worm his way into his affections. They were a team of dysfunctional misfits, and the man out of time was easily the most dysfunctional of them all. It was impossible to continue hating someone so desperately sad and lonely, no matter how much they reminded you of your painful past. So, in spite of himself, Tony had found that he had actually come to respect and care for his leader.

His heart beat faster as he recalled the fear and worry Clint had failed to hide from his voice, and he wished, not for the first time, that he could fly even faster. He felt a sudden understanding of what had driven his father to spend years searching for the soldier after he went down; at the moment Tony was pretty sure he would do just about anything if it meant he would get to the Helicarrier and find out everything had been blown way out of proportion. Because, really, this was Captain _fucking _America they were talking about. If he could survive seventy years frozen in a block of ice he could surely survive whatever had happened on his latest SHIELD mission. Sure, he had been hurt as much as any of them on their missions over the years, but he always bounced back faster, more completely, and without any complications. Obviously Clint had just been overreacting, and when he arrived in Medical he would find Cap already up and doing just fine.

Oh, how he wished he had been right. As soon as he strode into the med bay it was apparent that things were serious. Clint was crouching in a corner of the waiting area, his face carefully schooled to appear nonchalant but the paleness of his skin and the constant movement of his hands belying his anxiety. He was covered in blood from his face to his boots and he hadn't even bothered to put away his bow, but had instead discarded it on the chair next to him. That alone set warning bells off in Tony's head.

A nurse went rushing by, carrying a few bags of blood that Tony instantly recognized as Cap's own, part of a supply they'd been stockpiling for just such an occasion as this. He grabbed the arm of the next person to run by, who he vaguely recognized as one of the staff physicians. He looked annoyed and distracted, but as soon as he recognized Tony he stopped and turned to face him. His face looked grim.

"Mr. Stark. I assume you want to know how Captain Rogers is doing." At his answering nod, the doctor sighed. "Not well. He's losing blood faster than we can put it back in him. He's in surgery now, and we haven't even had a chance to do much for the burns. Our first priority is to get him stabilized. As soon as we know anything more I'll send someone out to update you. Now if you'll excuse me." Without another word he disappeared behind the sliding doors into the OR.

With nothing else left to do but wait, Tony went to sit in one of the chairs near his distraught teammate, who still had yet to acknowledge his presence. Tony left him to himself, not really in the mood for conversation, and settled in for the long wait.

...

It was hours after the fact that Bruce saw the messages from Barton and Stark. Even with the latest version of the Stark phone Tony had give him before he left for his trip to South America, his service was spotty at best. He moved around the hut mechanically, completely exhausted, putting together a makeshift dinner. As much as he loved the work he did on these trips, part of him was beginning to think he was too old for this.

He finally settled in at the small table and began to check his voicemails. Clint's was first, and within seconds Banner's stomach was in knots.

_Bruce, it's Hawkeye. Tony said I should call you. I'm in Med Bay, with Steve. It's bad. Stark said it might be good for you to be here, since you know more than anyone else about the serum. I don't know, he thinks maybe they'll need your help. Anyway, call us when you get this._

He quickly played the next message, which did nothing to ease his worries.

_Banner, seriously, you need to get your ass back up here yesterday. Cap's been in surgery for the past four hours and they're about out of blood. Fury's sending a jet your way; it should be there about 2am your time. _Tony's voice turned even more serious. _I know you really care about whatever it is you're doing down there, but we really need you up here. You may be Cap's only chance. You better be on that plane._

Banner looked at his watch, which read 1:18, and immediately began throwing his few belongings into his bag. His heart was pounding in his ears and he could feel the Hulk shifting restlessly beneath his carefully controlled calm. It wasn't anger that he felt, however, but fear. Fear that he would be too late, fear that even his vast knowledge wouldn't be enough to help their leader, fear that he would arrive only to find that Steve was already dead and that their team, their family, would be no more. He would never forgive himself if Steve died because he was outside of cell range.

It didn't take him long to pack – there was always the possibility of being called back early from his work in case of an emergency – and within ten minutes he was in the rented Jeep and speeding toward the tiny airfield. He got there about the same time as the quinjet did, and he left the Jeep on in his rush to get back to SHIELD HQ. The jet didn't even come to a complete stop as he leaped through the door and took his seat behind the pilots.

An agent he didn't recognize approached him with a file in his hands. "Dr. Banner, I'm glad you received the message. I've been instructed to give you this." He handed him a tablet filled with info on Steve. "This is everything we know about Captain Rogers' physiology and the serum. And this," he handed him the folder, "contains his chart and scans from today. The doctors will keep us updated as we fly. Last we heard he was out of surgery but he's still in intensive care and they'll need to go back in as soon as he's stabilized. The main concern right now is blood. They've burned through his own supply and are giving him regular blood. The biggest worry is that he'll bleed out the serum and with it, his healing abilities. We're fairly confident that would return with time, but that's time he may not have without accelerated healing. But we may have missed something. We'll be there in three hours, so if you could take that time to look over the files we'll relay any information to the doctors at HQ."

Bruce nodded, turning immediately to the medical charts. No one had told him what had actually happened, what damage had been done, and he read through the chart with a sinking heart. _Second and third degree burns, severed arteries, lacerated organs, possible damage to the eyes, risk of paralysis, amputation, coma…. _The list went on and on. Fighting down nausea, Bruce closed the file and turned to the tablet. He scanned the information, looking for anything he didn't know. It was going to take a miracle to pull Steve through this unscathed, let alone alive.


	3. Chapter 3

The doctors had been out to see them twice since they had spoken to Tony, and both times they had looked grim. They tried to be encouraging, to sound optimistic, but there really wasn't any way to make _he's still losing blood at an alarming rate, we're taking him back into surgery_ sound positive. They had received word an hour ago that Bruce was on his way and doing everything he could to help the surgeons, but it had been eight hours since the explosion and things weren't looking any better. As much as it killed him, Clint was starting to lose hope.

In his mind's eye he saw Steve's body, burned and bleeding, and he was beginning to think that maybe even the super soldier wouldn't be able to survive this. It was a new feeling. Steve had been injured as often as any of them – probably more so – but he always bounced back so quickly. The serum enabled his body to heal at a superhuman rate, but that serum was failing him now. Without it there was no way his body could cope with the severity of his wounds. You didn't have to be as smart as Stark or Banner to figure that one out.

Tony was silently pacing around the waiting room, trying and failing miserably to hide how worried he was. Clint had tried pacing, too, at one point, but had given it up when he could no longer ignore his own exhaustion and bruises. It hadn't helped much, anyway.

Without warning Tony rounded on him, anger replacing the fear in his eyes. "For god's sake, Barton, would you get rid of that blood already? I can smell it from over here!" Clint hadn't taken much notice of the dried red that covered him from head to toe, but now that he was aware of it his skin burned with the need to _get it off_. Without a word he stood and half-sprinted, half-staggered to the bathroom, going straight to the sink and turning on the water as hot as it would go. It scalded his skin but he didn't care, not as long as the red-tinged water continued to disappear down the drain.

He scrubbed his arms up to his shoulders, and then after a glance in the mirror scrubbed at his face until he was sure the top layer of his skin was gone. He ran his hands through his hair and then stood, bracing himself against the counter with both hands, dripping and trying to control his breathing and stop the trembling of his arms and legs. He focused on the sound of the running water and closed his eyes, feeling the weariness creep into his bones.

Somewhere behind him he heard the door swing open and footsteps came to a stop at his side. "I got an agent to bring you a change of clothes. And one of the nurses came out with an update. He's out of surgery again. They think they have all of the shrapnel out, and they were finally able to address the burns seriously. But he's not breathing on his own and they're still not happy with how they left things." Tony paused and placed his hand on Clint's shoulder. "Get changed. I'll let you know if I hear anything else." The real message went unsaid, but Clint heard it clearly. _I'm sorry. Take all the time you need._ It was as close as Tony was going to come to saying those words out loud.

Clint changed slowly, trying to avoid touching the dried blood that saturated his uniform, and tried to absorb what his teammate had told him. _Out of surgery_: good. _Not breathing_: bad. Bruce was still an hour and a half away: very bad. But at least there was hope. Clint had never been a particularly optimistic person, but right now he knew that if he let go of what hope he had left he would crumble. Hope was all he had.

….

Tony wasn't really big on guilt. To him, what was in the past should stay there and there was no point in reliving it over and over. Or at least that's what he told himself. It didn't stop him from hating himself for the look on Hawkeye's face after he yelled at him. But really, he'd been staring at tat blood for hours and it had started to stare back, following him around the room until he couldn't take it anymore. It was a relief when Barton emerged from the restroom wearing a clean t-shirt and jeans, his skin still pink from the hot water. They both remained silent even as Clint took a seat next to him and sighed wearily, looking longingly at the doors Steve had disappeared through so many hours ago.

Eventually Clint broke the silence. "Fury called. Natasha's on her way back from her mission. She'll get here about an hour after Banner."

Tony nodded. "Does she know?"

"I asked him not to tell her. She's not gonna take it well, and I'd rather be the one to tell her." Tony couldn't begin to understand the dynamics among the three SHIELD agents. Clint and Natasha had obviously been co-dependent long before the rest of them had come along, and somehow they had expanded to include Steve in their little VIP club. It made sense, really; they only came together as a complete team in the most dire of circumstances, but those three worked together on an almost daily basis. Here Steve was just another agent, albeit a slightly ore conspicuously dressed one. He was highly respected, of course, and knew his stuff, but when it came down to it he wasn't the one to make the call. When there were the Avengers, the weight of leadership settled on his young shoulders and he was a different man.

Tony almost found himself envying Clint and Natasha for getting to know the lighter, slightly less closed-off Steve Rogers. Although he was slowly opening up with the rest of them, he was still a twenty-four-year-old kid with severe PTSD from a war he fought seventy – and yet only one – years ago. He had lost everyone he had ever known and been thrown into an entirely new world. That came with some inherent emotional difficulties. Besides, it wasn't like Tony had any room to judge.

It just wasn't fair, he decided. The hits just kept on coming. How much could their team-turned-family be expected to take before they got a break? Other than Pepper, these people were the only good things in his life. And as much as he'd like to think differently, Steve was the glue that held them together. Without him they weren't the Avengers. They were just a group of dysfunctional people playing superheroes. Just as Tony was realizing how important they all were to him he was faced with the very real possibility of losing them. And it just wasn't fair.

He thought again of the information he had failed to pass on to Clint, and his stomach turned. He just hadn't had the heart to tell him, but he would find out eventually and know he had lied to him. But honestly Tony didn't think he could get the words out without vomiting. _If he doesn't start healing soon, he'll lose one or both of his legs. Some of his arteries were severed and he's not getting enough blood to his legs. His tissues are dying already._ He fought nausea. A Captain America without legs was a Captain America who couldn't fight. A Steve Rogers without Captain America was a Steve Rogers Tony was afraid to meet.

Tony was pulled from his thoughts by a SHIELD agent clearing her throat. "What?" he asked, rather rudely, but the woman seemed unfazed.

"I was instructed to inform you that the quinjet carrying Dr. Banner will be arriving in approximately twenty minutes. Fury would like you to meet him in the hangar to talk over any ideas he may have had on the way." Her manner was cold, completely indifferent to the condition of her fellow agent. It infuriated him and he hated her immediately. He left without a word and walked quickly toward the elevators that would take him up to the hangar. He was suddenly extremely relieved to be out of the infirmary. It made things seem less real, less horrible. This was where Tony was more comfortable. He needed distance. He could help Bruce try to figure things out, but he couldn't sit around playing the worried friend and waiting for more bad news. He just couldn't do it.

….

Bruce was so engrossed in the notes he had just been sent from medical that he almost failed to notice Tony waiting for him by the planes. His fellow genius was obviously equally distracted by whatever he was looking at on his phone, but they fell into step as they both headed back down the hall to the elevators.

"Did they tell you…?" he began, only to be cut off by his companion.

"Yeah, but Clint doesn't know. Have you found anything?"

Bruce ran a weary hand over his face, closing his eyes. "Maybe. It'll take me a while to know for sure, but they still have some of his blood in case I can use it. It's a bit of a long shot, but I may be able to accelerate the reproduction of the serum and mass produce serum-infused blood. It wouldn't be enough to make a new super soldier, but it should be enough to speed up his healing and save his life. But as for… everything else, I'm afraid going to be too late." The last part was barely more than a whisper, but they both sagged under the weight the words carried.

"I'll head on to the lab and get everything ready. You go by medical and get whatever we'll need." Bruce nodded, unable to say anything else before Stark disappeared down the next hallway, walking quickly and back on his phone. He was obviously avoiding going back to the hospital wing, and Bruce honestly wished he could do the same. But if there was any hope of saving his friend he had to assess his condition for himself and get what little of his blood there was left.

As soon as he entered the waiting room Barton was at his side. "Where the hell is Stark? Please tell me you figured something out." Hope mixed with anger in the archer's eyes, and Bruce thought vaguely that Tony may have been avoiding more than he'd realized.

"He went on to the lab to get to work. And I may have something but I have to go see Steve before I can get to work on it."

"Goddamn him! I just talked to a doctor. Steve's back in surgery in a last ditch effort to reestablish blood flow to his legs. He's really not stable enough to go back in but he's Captain America and he needs his fucking legs. I can't believe he didn't tell me. Especially after… but it's okay now, right? You can fix it, and I'll kick Stark's ass and it'll all be back to normal."

Bruce couldn't find it in him to say otherwise, so he kept his doubts to himself and proceeded past the doors to the ICU. He had to change into scrubs and wash up before being allowed into the OR, and when he finally got there he found chaos.

Steve, pale and still, lay on his back on the cold metal operating table, surrounded by frantic doctors and nurses. He was intubated, and the rest of his face was covered with bandages, as were his arms and neck. A blanket covered his legs up to the hips, but his chest and abdomen were wide open, filled with gloved hands and pooling blood. Monitors and alarms were blaring, nearly drowning out the words of the doctors. "Find the source of the bleeding, _now_! We're losing him. Jennings, get the crash cart, we're going to need it."

Bruce stood frozen, holding a surgical mask to his face and feeling as though his own heart were about to stop beating. The internal damage Rogers had sustained was obvious, and the doctors were fighting a losing battle. He needed to get them the serum-infused blood, and _fast_.

He caught the attention of one of the nurses in the hall and asked for the blood they had set aside. He never took his eyes from Steve's bandaged face as the medical staff worked feverishly to stop the life from leaking out of him. He didn't even glance at the nurse as she handed him the blood and then let to complete some other task. Suddenly a new sound, more terrifying than all the rest, cut through the clamor. Steve's heart had stopped.

Banner's heart pounded in his hears, mocking the fact that Steve was dead, and he very nearly hulked out right there in the middle of Med Bay. Everything became hazy, and he barely registered the morbid contortions of Steve's mangled body as the doctors attempted to shock him back into existence.

This was it. He had been too late. He had been off trying to assuage his guilt and because he hadn't been there, their leader was paying the ultimate price. Bruce finally had something good in his life and he had been too busy feeling sorry for himself to appreciate it. Now he was going to lose everything all over again.

Without warning the wailing of the alarms cut out and were replaced by the steady, if somewhat slow, beeps that indicated a heartbeat. The haze lifted enough for him to hear one of the surgeons report, "I found the source of the bleed and it's under control. We need to get out give him a chance to stabilize." Tears of relief sprung into his eyes, and both to avoid embarrassment and out of urgency to do something useful, he fled back out of the OR and ran past Clint without so much as a glance. That had been too close. _Way_ too close. And if he had any say in it that wouldn't happen again.


End file.
